


Wine of memory

by GreenPhoenix



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenPhoenix/pseuds/GreenPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has a type from early in his youth. Toby matches it perfectly, and surpasses his obsession with all others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine of memory

Her name was Susan Frost, and she had long blonde hair that cascaded down her back. Chris would look at her from his window when he was thirteen, hoping to see her undress. Frequently she unveiled her glorious, lush body to him, though she didn’t know he watched her. He’d never seen a lovelier creature. Once he stole a lock of hair from a brush she left behind while visiting his family. He kept the lock in a drawer in his room; he’d take it out and jerk off with its scent in his nostrils. His first real girlfriend, Iona, had reddish blonde hair of a glorious hue. He’d let her draw it across his body, and when she blew him he tangled his hands in it. She thought him odd, but she indulged him.

 

Much later he saw a blond young man on a motorbike and knew he had to have him. Byam Lewis. Byam Lewis craved a walk on the wild side, and he certainly got it. His essence seemed so bright, despite longing for a deeper darkness to get lost within. Perhaps he thought he could light a path out of it for them both, but no such luck. When Chris was done fucking him, he strangled him and jerked off while stroking the dead man’s blond hair. He kept a lock and put it in a deposit box with the one by Susan Frost. Mark Carachi’s hair was dark brown and coarse in its texture. He had a barking, short laugh and a sarcastic sense of humor. Nothing seemed serious for him, if he got in trouble his rich daddy could always bail him out. He had privilege written all over his handsome face. His childhood was probably idyllic, and Chris resented him for it. His grip on Mark’s hair as he fucked him was hard. He had a hand across the young man’s throat, and squeezed harder and harder as Mark egged him on. Until he finally went too far, and found himself coming into a corpse. Carachi was dead almost by accident. He was dead but his essence remained in his locks. There were others, some of them he let live and if they angered him he sent them to meet their maker.

 

The deposit box now housed too much evidence. Keller burned all his dead and living lovers hair in a bonfire alone at night. He could picture their faces, silent now but their essence remained in his memory forever. 

 

Ronnie never understood his hair kink, but he also let him have his way. One of his friends was a beautiful man with blond hair. He remained, like Susan, an unreachable ideal. His wives let him do what he wanted, but his thoughts were with the young man, David. The one that got away. The only one immune to his charms.

 

He came on to David subtly, and then with more eagerness. David seemed blind to his casual smiles and not so casual raunchy tales of past conquests. David had no clue, he just assumed Chris was being nice and fixing his bike because he was a good friend. Couldn’t sense the need Chris could barely contain. Meanwhile Chris was oblivious to Ronnie’s eagerness to please him in every way there was. Ronnie would have walked naked across the Sahara if he’d told him too. So they were tied in a nearly endless loop of pointless longing. Enough lost energy to power a small nuclear plant.

 

The closest he got was watching David and a girl screwing in the woods, after a party. His hair blowing freely in the wind as the girl curved around him and laughed. They never saw him, so lost in their bliss. He could have killed the boy, or her but he let them live. He could do that too. 

 

In Oz he saw someone who recalled David, equally blond and with an air of something that could never be conquered. Toby. After he moved into their pod, he pocketed some of Toby’s hair from his brush and later that day he let it slip though his fingers like fine silk, while he recalled the other man. His orgasm was strong enough to wake the dead.

 

In the showers he causally let his fingers brush against Toby’s hair, now wet and he was dying to press his lips to it. He longed to touch all of Toby, to possess him with every atom of his being. One day he swore he ‘d have him, not just as a trick but for real. To hold on to him, even beyond death.

 

Much later when he’d finally won Toby’s heart, at least for the time being he could finally posses him like he never could the others. He won him over with careful touches fingers across his back, kisses on his forehead. That led to him on his knees, sucking the heavy dick with efficient lips. Chris knew who had taught him, but no matter. He tangled fingers in Toby’s hair to slow him down, to unteach him Vern’s cruelly mechanical approach to cocksucking. “No” he said. “Like this. Carefully, slowly. I’m not a machine. I’m not a fucking Aryan. Relish each moment, feel what you’re doing”  
“The hacks” said Toby, mild note of panic in his soft voice.  
“Screw them. They don’t care now. We’re in lockdown. Come on, slower and deeper, learn to love it”. He did soon enough. Pleasure on his lovely features when Chris finally fucked him. Chris took his time, despite the hacks and touched Toby’s hair gently while he continued to untangle him from the web of Vern’s abuse. Tried to teach him that he had a voice and that he could use it to protest things he did not want in sex, just as he could protest in other areas. His innate stubbornness would not be difficult to awaken in this area too. 

 

He’d forgotten all about David. He was just a stupid boy. Toby was his man, his lover. The one he’d been waiting for all his life. The one he could lose himself utterly in. The reality to the dream that had been David. 

 

Seeing Toby with those others wounded him, the thought of them sullying his lover with their filthy hands drove him mad and they had to die. Die they did. Even faithful Ronnie died, when he’d finally had enough of Chris’ power games and neglect. Ronnie’s betrayal to the feds had been a long time coming really. Never mind, now he was gone too. He reclaimed Toby while tangling hands in his hair and breathing in the clean scent of sun kissed tresses. The closest he’d get to freedom in this hellhole.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the English translation of Charles Baudelaire’s poem “Her hair”. In which the narrator is obsessed with his mistress’ hair. Written for the Oz-prompt-athon 2014.


End file.
